


my heart beat a tattoo on my ribs

by icarusinflight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Tattoo Artist Luna, post war and some feelings about that, searching Ginny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: Ginny can't understand why anyone would want to mark themselves bychoicebut she still agrees to go with Harry when he says he wants a tattoo.





	my heart beat a tattoo on my ribs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks ever so much for nifflers-n-nargles for starting and running such an amazing fest! I'm excited to be a part of it even if my first submission is late!
> 
> Thanks also to [gentleau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanna_seeyou_undoit/pseuds/gentleau)/[spacehubsands](https://spacehubsands.tumblr.com/) for the beta and such an amazingly swift turnaround!

Harry asks Ginny to come with him to get a tattoo.

She doesn't get it, but she still says yes without a giving it a second thought. She’d do a lot of things for Harry, and accompanying him to get a tattoo hardly even rates. She doesn’t ask any questions, just gets the date from him, makes sure she’s free then, and when the day rolls around she’s falling through Harry’s floo at a time she’d rather still be in bed but otherwise unfussed.

Harry cooks a full English for them, something about needing to have a full stomach for the tattoo. They eat in silence. It's not exactly comfortable, but Ginny doesn't move to break it. She's never been one for small talk and she doesn't want to push Harry for details. He'll talk if and when he wants.

“Are you nervous?” she asks, when breakfast is over and Harry's made them tea, sitting round the living room and waiting for the time to pass until his appointment. It's an invitation, an opening. There for Harry to take or ignore, whatever he wants to do.

The silence stretches out, long enough that Ginny thinks Harry’s not going to answer her, not that she minds. That’s one thing they do get about each other, she thinks, they’re good at offering, but also good at knowing when not to push. They’re so much better as friends than they ever were in a relationship. Sometimes you have to try something to realise though, and Ginny has always been that person; never listening to warnings and always trying things herself, then running to Fred and George who would always laugh, but who never made it feel like laughing _at_ her, and would always bandage whatever she’d done to herself that time, and always placed a kiss to make it better.

She hasn’t done that for years though — can’t anymore anyway.

“I am,” Harry says, dragging her from her own thoughts — something she’s glad for really. She tries not to think about the people lost in the war. Hermione says she’s not processing things, and mum says she’s avoiding things, but Harry seems to get it at least. When the days feel dark lately it’s been Harry she’s turned to, Harry who wraps her up with tea and understands that sometimes she just wants to listen to the wireless and not talk about any of it, just pretend things are normal for once and that she’s not a broken person now; broken and irreparable, like everyone they lost took a piece and now she’ll never be able to be put back together.

_All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again._

“But I’m also excited.” His voice doesn’t sound excited, but Ginny trusts him not to lie about it. Harry gives her a smile, just a little wonky around the edges. “I think this is a good way for me to remember them.”

Ginny doesn’t get a chance to ask any more questions because Harry gathers up the mugs, taking them into the kitchen to wash by hand. He refuses to use the cleaning charms that her mum had taught all of them as soon as they could wield a wand. She’s not sure she would have asked anyway, not sure she can bring herself to start that conversation. Better to keep the chocolate frog in the package if you’re not ready to eat it, otherwise you’ll just end up losing it all.

* * *

Ginny’s not sure what she’s expecting when they step through the floo, but it definitely isn’t this. The room is a mess, and she spares a thought that maybe Harry had flooed them to the wrong place — wouldn’t be the first time after all, but Harry side steps around the precariously positioned coffee table with a practised ease that tells of previous visits.

Ginny lets herself be led, careful to step around the table and only just avoiding the pile of wool that reminds her off her own mum’s knitting chair. The whole room is a clutter really, chairs piled high with newspapers, clothes and various knickknacks. There are plants around the room, baskets bobbing lightly with the levitation charms. There are wooden boxes with holes cut into them stuck all around the room, and she has no idea what they could be for but they’re intriguing, floating in all different places and heights.

There’s something vaguely familiar about the space, she thinks, as she dodges a different piece of furniture, this time a chair. None of the furniture matches each other, but they also feel like they match the space in some strange way, all the odd sides and angles fitting together somehow. Harry seems to fit as well, and maybe that’s just the way he moves, the sure steps of someone who both knows what’s here and knows where they’re going.

Everything seems to fit, everything except Ginny.

It’s a feeling she’s all too familiar with of late.

Harry’s hand linked in her own is the only thing which keeps her moving, pulling her towards one of the doors in the room. There’s smear of purple paint across the door, which looks a little like a flower, although Ginny can’t be sure.

“It’s through here,” Harry says, perfunctorily, as he pushes the door open, stepping through the door, and pulling Ginny through with him.

“Hullo Harry.”

The voice is soft and musical and more _magical_ than anything Ginny’s ever heard. She heard charms and spells, the cries of dragons, the sound of a basilisk, and one of the world's most dangerous wizards wielding the most powerful wand in the world. And nothing is as magical as the sound of this voice.

It's also a voice she recognises.

“Luna.” The words fall out of her mouth without thought to say them. She hasn't even seen Luna yet, but she's certain it's her, could recognise that voice anywhere, and the familiar feeling of the room all makes sense now.

“Hullo, Ginny,” Luna says, as she steps out from behind something, a hanging wall with bright coloured scarves hanging on it.

Ginny hasn't seen Luna in a while, too long she realises now. Not since the fuzzy time in her brain that she associates with death and crying and doing everything in her power to avoid breaking down like her mum or dad. She cut herself from people, as if somehow that would prevent her from having to experience it all. She’d put all her thoughts and feelings into a box and locked it away in the chamber of secrets that existed only in her head, and then she’d put herself into a box all of her own, where she didn’t have to see people who might make her think about any of those things.

It had been working just fine.

Except for all the ways in which it didn’t. Except for all the ways in which she felt like the box was almost overflowing, and like maybe she was actually stuck in the box too, maybe she was drowning inside the box along with everything she just wanted to lock away and forget.

Luna is still waiting on her to respond, she realises, and the silence has gone on too long. She’s aware of the way everything has come to stop around her. Both Harry and Luna are watching, and she feels almost like she’s drowning here too, trying to go through the motions of a conversation like one would a dance, but it’s been too long, and she can’t remember any of the steps anymore, muscle memory faded away and abandoned her from disuse.

It’s Harry who bails her out, taking her proverbial hand and waltzing her across the dancefloor when he says, “I hope you don’t mind me bringing Gin along, I thought I might need a friend.”

“Of course not, Ginny is always welcome here.”

Ginny let out the breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding, feeling a little of the tension sitting in her chest fall away. She shoots Luna a grateful smile, and is rewarded with one of Luna’s gorgeous smiles, her insides twisting up a bit at that, but not with the horrible feeling of before.

“Get on the bed Harry, Ginny can sit where she likes.”

Where she likes was more of a _where she could find a space_. Ginny assesses the room, looking for something that looked like it would support her weight. This room is just as messy as the last room was, there’s a bed in the middle of the room, just a fold out, but Harry takes a seat on it, shuffling over and motioning for Ginny to takes a seat beside him.

She watches Luna moves around the room, picking through bowls and assembling equipment that looks like nothing Ginny’s seen before. She’s never really had any experience with tattoos. Charlie has a few, and she knows Bill has a couple, but she’d never really thought about the process, how someone took a picture of art and transferred it to their skin. She’s only got one mark, the _‘I will not break rules’_ etched into her skin. She can’t imagine ever wanting to mark up her skin by choice. She can still remember the pain, and the shame at being forced to put the mark on her skin. She hates the mark, the words faded white with time but still clear to read, so visible. She pulls her jumper sleeve down further, tugging it down until only her fingers poke out from the material, hiding the mark from her eyes, if not her thoughts.

She wonders if it’s the same, the equipment that Luna has out looks a little like a quill really, if bulkier and made of metal instead of a feather.

“Will it hurt?” The words tumble out.

“Yes,” Luna replies softly.

Her mind boggles. “Why would anyone do that? Why would you do that?” She directs the last half at Harry, staring at him pointedly. It’s not like they haven’t had enough pain in their lives, and Harry has marks all over his body. Surely that’s enough pain for one person.

“Everyone has their own reasons,” Luna says, her voice still soft and calm, even though Ginny feels anything but. She’s not sure she’s ready for this, for watching her friend suffer — all for a mark on his skin. “But I think for most people they think it’s worth it. It hurts, but it’s a choice. So many of the tattoos are people honouring loved ones, or covering up bad memories.”

Ginny feels like the skin around her scar is tight, and she presses her thumb to where she knows the words mark her skin.

“We’ve all suffered,” Luna says, and Ginny knows she’s not just talking about skin now, something deeper, all the things Ginny has tried so hard to cover up. “But this — this is a choice, something we can choose, I like being able to help people choose, to give them something.”

“For me,” Harry says, dragging her attention from Luna, and he takes Ginny’s hand, pushing away her thumb where it had been digging in hard enough that it hurts when he pushes it off. “I want this. Sometimes pain is necessary, but I don’t think of it as suffering. I want this mark, I want to always have something to remember them by, to keep a part of them with me, a reminder that I will always be able to see.”

Ginny’s not sure she gets it, not yet, but there’s something about that which does settle the pixies in her stomach, if only a little. She can understand the feeling Harry’s describing, even if she’s not sure she can understand the desire to mark himself up.

Harry laces their fingers together and gives her hand a little squeeze, shooting her a smile, that she returns.

“This is something I want,” he reassures her.

“I’m just going to get things ready now, Harry.”

“Okay.” Harry gives her hand another squeeze, and Ginny leans in a little closer to watch, as Luna lifts his shirt, sticking it with a spell, before casting another over his revealed skin. When she picks up the not-quill it makes a noise, and she leans in close to his skin, holding her instrument close. There’s a piece of parchment in front of Luna, but Ginny can’t see what’s on it. She never even asked what Harry was getting tattooed.

“Are you ready now, Harry?” Luna asks, looking up at Harry.

“Yeah.” He gives Ginny’s hand another squeeze, and Ginny tucks in tighter, crossing her ankle with Harry’s, and resting against him, just to make sure he knows she’s there for him.

“Alright.”

The not-quill makes a noise and Luna leans in, closing the distance between herself and Harry as she gets to work.

* * *

It’s like watching a piece of art come together in front of her eyes.

Which is exactly what it is, really.

She’s seen Luna’s drawings before, back at Hogwarts she would sit with Luna out by the lake and watch as she drew. Sometimes the people and places around them, sometimes pictures of creatures, some of which Ginny had never actually seen, but she complimented Luna on them nonetheless.

She had liked it best on the days when Luna drew her. Ginny’s never been overly confident in her body. She’s not sure if it’s what comes from growing up with six older brothers. She’d always been comparing herself to them, always felt like she fell short. Then when she got to Hogwarts she’d felt just as out of place. It felt like she was always out of place, never really fitting in. The only place she’d really felt at home was on a broomstick, where none of that had ever mattered.

But there was something about the way Luna drew her. It had always felt like a gift to see it, the pictures were always so beautiful and it made Ginny feel like maybe she could be that, if only inside Luna’s sketchbook.

It takes her a while to work out what the tattoo is, but eventually she realises that the tattoos are animals. There’s a wolf, a dog, and two deer, standing underneath a knobbly tree. They’re not realistic exactly, but it’s obvious what they are. Ginny tears her attention between Luna and the tattoo appearing before her eyes. It’s hypnotic to watch it form, but it’s even more enthralling to watch Luna, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and the look of focus on her face. It’s one she’s seen before, when Ginny used to lie on her stomach, kicking out and relaxing as they chatted and Luna sketched away.

It’s a little breathtaking if she’s honest, and that was the thing she’d forgotten about those days. How, while Luna had been sketching and talking about nargles and nifflers, Ginny had been more than content to just watch Luna, to take it all in. They’d been some of the best times, and when she thinks about Hogwarts those are some of the memories she treasures most. It had always filled her with a warmth of sorts, an affection that had been so all consuming Ginny hadn’t wanted to question it too much, not wanting to risk the happy bubble they had.

Watching now, she thinks maybe there might have been a reason for her to be worried, if the fact she can hardly take her eyes of Luna and the fact that the pixies have started to party in her stomach again, this time nothing to do with worry for Harry.

Harry keeps hold of her hand almost the whole way through, breaking occasionally to wipe his hand on his jeans, before taking her hand again. He squeezes tighter in certain areas, and by the time Luna starts working in colours — not shading in the scene, but lines and splotches around them, that should look messy but somehow work — he’s shaking more often, biting his lips hard enough that Ginny is actually starting to worry about him, about whether there’s a limit to how much one person can take, or should take.

“You’re finished Harry,” she says, wiping down the tattoo with a cloth. “You can take a look in the bathroom.”

Harry releases his hold on her hand, and it _hurts,_ the blood rushing back into her hand, and filling the space with pins and needles. She shakes her hand, not moving from the bed as Luna packs up her tools, doing spells on them as she places them away.

“How does it work then?” Ginny asks, when Luna is rolling up the parchment. “Will his tattoo move?”

“Oh yes.” Luna stops what she’s doing to look up at Ginny. Ginny feels caught by her blue-grey eyes. Luna’s always had a way of looking at you, like when she looks at you the whole world is shrunk down to just you. It makes Ginny feel a little hot under her jumper, makes her want to look away, makes her want to never look away.

“It takes a little while, as the tattoo starts to heal they start to move. I like to think of it as they get comfortable. That’s their home, now. It’s a spell in the ink which makes it work. It’s based off the memories of the person, or their feelings, and you add that to the ink. You’re supposed to put some limitations on it, some people like their tattoos to only move a little, like a flashing light or turning wheels, but I can’t bring myself to do that, so my tattoos do have a mind of their own. But I like that, and no one’s complained. Or not much anyway. Draco has a snitch he can’t find and he complains about that, but I don’t think he minds truly.”

“He’s always had a bit of difficulty with snitches though, hasn’t he?” Harry adds, as he comes back into the room, shirt still rucked up on his chest, and a bright smile on his face. “It’s not that hard to find.” Before Ginny can ask about Luna tattooing _Draco_ , or what Harry means by that, he adds, “It’s brilliant Luna, I really love it.”

“I’m glad you like it, Harry.”

“I love it.” He grins. “I expect I’ll be getting another soon. I know what it’s like.”

Luna walks over to Harry, and casts a spell over his skin, leaving a layer of something over the tattoo, before pulling his shirt down. “Come back and see me when it’s healed so I can make sure everything is right.”

Harry is moving slowly, leaning against the bed as he places his shoes back on. They’re going to leave soon, head back to Harry’s place, get a curry and watch muggle TV just like they’d planned for, and Ginny wants that, has been looking forward to the end of the day. They know how to relax around each other and Ginny loves that, but she feels a little flash of sadness about leaving Luna, when she’s only just found her again.

It should be so easy, really, and it would have been, before the war, when they used to hang around each other every time they could. But there’s a chasm between them now, a gap that has less to do with the war and more to do with how Ginny has allowed it to grow, but that doesn’t do anything to help her, not when the thing she wants most is to lean forward and wrap her friend in her arms, to ask ‘we’re okay, right?’ even if they’re not really. She just wants for them to be okay in this whole world of things which are decidedly, _not okay._

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Harry asks. Ginny’s could kiss him really, and her head shoots up to look at him, even as her heart beats a jive against her chest at the thought of spending more time with Luna, but she doesn’t want to leave her either. There must be something in her eyes because Harry’s eyebrows furrow a little, and he fixes her with a concerned look as he adds, “As long as that’s okay with you Gin?”

“More than,” she says, cringing a little at the over eagerness in her voice. It’s okay though, because they’re friends, and friends are allowed to be excited about each other’s presence.

“Alright then,” Luna says, with one of her soft smiles. “Just let me pack up my things, and I’ll be ready.”

Ginny lets herself smile at that.

* * *

It’s a familiar event for Ginny. She’s gone over Harry’s for a curry and show many nights before, it’s become a routine, a comfort, like a kiss on the forehead before being tucked into bed.

All of that changes with Luna.

Ginny is hyper aware of Luna’s presence. It feels like she’s keeping track of Luna, she knows where Luna is at all times, always keeping an eye on her out of the corner of her eye, even as they move around the kitchen, as they order dinner, when Harry picks them out beers to drink. Luna stays by her side, always close but never touching. It feels like Ginny’s forgotten how to be around her, every action she makes she’s questioning if it’s normal, to the point where nothing feels normal.

When the curry’s delivered Harry portions it out for them, sitting them down on the couch while he does it, and sets up the show. It’s _The Great British Bake Off_ , a show Ginny has come to know and love. She is thoroughly invested in the participants, wants to know how Tamal’s bread turns out, but she's never paid less attention to an episode. Harry narrates the episode for Luna, explaining the show, and Luna seems a little confused, but she watches along anyway, asking questions occasionally. She’s amazed by the showstopper bakes, and Ginny can’t help but find that endearing, and she finds herself watching Luna more than the show. It’s fine, she can catch up on the episode later.

One episode becomes two, Harry portioning out more beers, even after all of the food has been eaten. By the time the second episode has ended, Harry is yawning, and Ginny is feeling a pleasant buzz in her skull, not enough to really affect her, but enough that she knows not to Apparate. Never spell under the influence and all that.

“Are you two okay with the spare room?” Harry asks, around another yawn, lifting his glasses to rub lazily at one of his eyes. “You shouldn’t travel home this late, or after the beers.”

Her blood runs hot, panic rising in her veins at the thought of sharing with Luna. The spare room is usually hers on these nights, and she’d been expecting to sleep there, but she hadn’t considered where Luna would be sleeping. She has shared it before, but that’s been with her brother, or even her brother and Hermione (with the promise of no funny business). She’s even shared before with Harry, and she has half a mind to ask him if she could do it again tonight, but Harry is already heading up the stairs, mumbling about turning off the lights after them, and leaving them alone.

“It’ll be like old times,” Luna says. Like back when Luna used to visit her at the Burrow, before the war, before everything, and Luna used to sleep in her bed, cuddled up far tighter than they’d need to be in Harry’s double spare bed.

Those days had been easier, but even then it had been filled with a tension Ginny couldn’t place, something that left her lying awake in her bed long after Luna’s breaths had evened out.

Maybe it’s more like old times than she’d realised.

“Like old times,” she agrees.

Ginny sets Luna up in the room with a pair of pajamas she keeps at Harry’s for nights just like tonight. She leaves Luna to get changed as she moves around the house, binning the containers, turning off the lights and TV, hoping that when she’s done, Luna will at least be in bed. She almost hopes Luna will be asleep, and then Ginny can keep her panic to herself, slip into bed and sleep — or more likely lie awake listening to her thoughts run around her head.

She can only put going to bed off for so long, and eventually she needs to head to bed — unless she wants to water Harry’s plants in the middle of the night, something she won’t even do in the middle of the day (there’s just too many of them, and it’s _boring_ ).

Luna is in her pajamas when she walks into the room, the loose tank hanging of her shoulders where she’s sitting up in the bed, leant against the head of the bed. She’s waiting for Ginny, which definitely shouldn’t make her heart rate kick up a beat. Probably Luna wearing her pajamas shouldn’t make her mouth dry out either, but Ginny’s only human.

Ginny slaps off the light with a bit more force than necessary, the sound loud in the silent room, but it blocks off the sight of Luna, even if it leaves her having to get around the room without the aid of sight. She focuses on that, trying to give the task all her attention, even if she could easily walk around this room without her eyes — has done so many a night before. She slips off her jeans, before completing the complicated dance required to remove her bra without taking her shirt off. Even if Luna wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark, it still feels like it would be too much to strip off in the room with Luna, like crossing some boundary, even though she’s not even sure where those boundaries are anymore.

Ginny slides into bed wearing just her pants and the oversized shirt she’s been wearing all day. She sits up in bed next to Luna, mirroring her to sit up in bed. There’s a hint of moonlight filtering through the curtains, and her eyes have adjusted enough that she can see her hands, and she knows if she looked at Luna she’d be able to see her face, so she doesn’t.

The silence of the room is oppressive, and it feels like it’s closing in on her, smothering her. Like every minute that goes unbroken, the pressure is building and Ginny doesn’t want to wait for the pressure to blow.

“I had fun tonight.” It’s true, that even for how she’s felt out of sorts all night. It’s been worth it. It feels like she can say the truth now, say the things that she’s been saying inside. Like somehow the fact that she knows Luna can barely see her gives her a boldness she wouldn’t have if the lights were on, if she had to look into Luna’s eyes. Emboldened by the feeling she adds, “It was good seeing you, I missed you.”

Ginny flinches, the touch a shock at first, but as fast as she had pulled away she leans in, making sure Luna knows Ginny didn’t mean to pull away.

She’s done too much pulling away lately.

“I’ve missed you too,” Luna’s voice is softer and rougher all at once, impossibly so, but Ginny doesn’t question how that seems to work here. This is a safe space where things don’t make sense but they don’t have to.

A place where she can tell the truth.

“I needed some time,” she admits the secret, telling it to her hands even as she shuffles closer to lean into Luna. Luna slides her hand down to pull Ginny’s right hand into her own. She can’t see the scarred words in the dark, and she can pretend like it’s not there, like her body is unmarked by everything she went through. It used to be a fantasy of hers, that she could just scrub her body clean, remove all the scars and make her body her own. She’s not sure if she still wants that, not sure she wants to lose the scar on her wrist where Fred and George tried a healing spell when she fell off a broom, not sure she wants to lose all the other bits that act like markers on the highway of her life and body.

But that scar, that scar she’d get rid of in a heartbeat.

“I wasn’t doing so well for a bit there.” She drops her head to Luna’s shoulder, and Luna squeezes her hand, rubbing her thumb across the skin there. There’s a scar just below her thumb from where she got in the way of mum’s dish cleaning spell when she was younger. Charlie had been the one to help her that time, and Dad had helped to heal it up, and none of them ever spoke a word of it to her mum.

“And now?”

Ginny shrugs her shoulder against Luna’s. “I’m still working some things out. But, better, I think.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Luna says.

Ginny leans in closer, and Luna brings her arm up around Ginny, wrapping tight around her shoulders, and bringing her hand up to card through Ginny’s hair at her neck. It’s feels so nice, and Ginny melts even further into Luna, turning to bury her face in Luna’s hair at her neck. She smells the same, the familiar blend of lavender and something distinctly earthy. It’s so familiar, and Ginny lets herself soak it in, lets herself relax into Luna.

It feels like her whole body shrinks down, compacted into the spaces where Luna is touching her; her hand, her hair, their sides pressed together. It’s heady almost, and she feels hot with it, like all the points of contact are on fire, but she wouldn’t move away for anything, not with the way Luna is stroking her hair, not when she feels more at home with Luna than she’s felt all summer, even as it feels like her heart is trying to beat out of her chest.

It’s all too much, Luna here in bed with her, and Ginny’s heart feeling like it might give out, and every fibre of her body screaming at her to _do something_ and she knows she needs to act, needs to do something, even if that something will end up with her facing rejection.

She needs to know.

She moves slowly, giving Luna time to pull away in case she wants to. Ginny unhooks their hands, and pushes up to sit, and then kneel over Luna, bracketing Luna’s legs with her own. Luna’s hand in her hair stills, but it doesn’t pull away, and that must be a good sign. Ginny sits waiting, taking all of Luna in.

She can’t look away from Luna, even in the darkness of the room she’s gorgeous, ice blue eyes that feel like they see straight through her, her hair practically glowing in the moonlight. Their faces close enough that they’re sharing the same breath and all it would take is for her to tip forward, to close the inch between them and brush her lips against Luna’s.

_Fortune favours the bold._

She closes her eyes just before she moves, closing the distance and leaning forward. Her aims off, and she misses her mark, their noses bumping in the dark, and Ginny almost pulls back in shock, but Luna angles her head, and her hand is still holding Ginny’s hair and then their lips do connect, and Ginny can’t help the noise of surprise she makes deep in her throat.

Luna’s lips are warm and soft, she tastes like the beer they’d been drinking, and there’s vanilla too, probably from the lip balm Ginny has seen her use a hundred times before. Ginny’s left hand braces her weight against the bed, while her right hand, still holding Luna’s hand, and their joined hands sit awkwardly between them, pressing into her hip bone. It’s a little uncomfortable, but she can’t bring herself to break the hold, not when she feels like she might float away without Luna’s touch anchoring her to the bed.

Ginny breaks the kiss, pulling away only enough to put some distance between their lips. Luna’s breath chills her lips where she’s just a hint of moisture, and she can feel the traces of lip balm she’s stolen from Luna.

She wants to steal more of it. She wants to kiss Luna’s lips until there’s not a trace of it left, leave them bruised and wanting for more.

She _wants._

Her eyes are still closed, and she knows she needs to open them, to look at Luna, but there’s a tiny part of her that thinks if she doesn’t then she can wait here in this moment, never face up to the rejection she’s so sure is coming. Her heart is racing even faster, and she wonders vaguely if anyone has ever had a heart attack from kissing before. None of her other kisses have felt like this before. It takes every bit of her Gryffindor bravery to open her eyes, afraid of what she’ll see when she looks at Luna.

One look and Luna takes her breath away.

Luna doesn’t look upset. Anything but. From this angle she’s looking up at Ginny, her head still tilted to the side, like Ginny’s seen so many times before, like she does when she’s thinking hard about something. Her lips are glistening in the moonlight, and that’s from Ginny. _Fuck_. All Ginny wants to do is seal her lips back to Luna’s to pick up where she left off, but she knows she needs to ask, needs to find out if that’s okay.

The words die on her tongue.

Thankfully, Luna doesn’t seem to be having the same problem.

“That was nice,” she whispers, but it may as well be a yell for how clearly Ginny can hear the words, every fibre of her body tuned to _Luna_. “Can we do that again?”

“Circe, yes,” Ginny whispers. She’s more careful this time, leaning forward to close the distance again. Luna’s lips are rapidly becoming her favourite thing, and the easy way in which Luna tips her head up to accommodate her does funny things in her chest, her poor heart is getting more or a workout than she’s ever faced with Quidditch.

She peppers kisses against Luna’s lips, short brushes that make small smacking noises every time she pulls away. Ginny lets herself drift into it, trying not to over think it as her lips and body seem to know what to do, even as her brain feels likes it a swirling mess. With every kiss, she presses a little longer, a little firmer, the kisses getting more intense until it seems like the obvious thing to do when she flicks her tongue out, wetting Luna’s lips and tasting more of her lip balm. Luna goes with it, opening her lips beneath Ginny’s tongue, and Ginny releases a moan which feels like it comes from every inch of her body, as she licks her way into Luna’s mouth. Ginny can’t get enough of it, as she traces the shape of Luna’s lips first, before delving deeper.

She doesn’t realise she’s moving her body — some sort of semi conscious movements bringing her closer to Luna — until she makes contact with Luna, grinding down into Luna’s leg where it’s lying between Ginny’s own. The sensation of it shoots through her body, and forces her to break the kiss, gasping out against Luna’s lips.

It feels so good, it already feels better than any of the fumbles she’s had before. It doesn’t make sense how something so simple as a few kisses and a little pressure can feel so good, but she doesn’t question it. She just wants more, and she grinds down against Luna’s thigh again, feeling the pleasure in the pressure. Luna pulls her hand out of hers — and _Circe,_ she’d half forgotten about their interlocked hands in the heat of it — and Ginny feels the loss of it for a moment before Luna’s hand coming to rest on Ginny’s hip, pushing her down harder the next time Ginny grinds down.

It feels even better with Luna’s hand on her hip, blazing a hot handprint against her skin, her fingers a Ginny’s back slip underneath Ginny’s shirt to rest on her back and it’s such a little thing but it feels so _good_ that Ginny gasps out, the noise loud in the room before she can clamp her mouth shut, too late to cut off the noise.

She can feel her face blushing hot in the room, and she prays it isn’t visible in the dark of the room. She ducks her head just in case, her hair falling forward and hopefully helping in hiding the colour she knows is there. Blushing is not a good look on her, it always making her freckles stand out, and spreading all the way down to her chest in a bright red.

It must give her away, because Luna says, “You’re beautiful.” Which only serves to increase the blush on her cheeks. It feels like her whole body is on fire, embarrassment and arousal both. She can’t think with all her blood in her brain abandoning her.

Luna slides her thigh higher, and all thought abandons her. She shoots out a hand to grip at Luna’s leg, stopping her from repeating the movement as Ginny gasps for air.

“I'm a little bit slow,” Luna says, and Ginny isn't sure what she's talking about, her voice, her kisses, the trace of her hands across Ginny’s hip, feeling like fire against her skin. Her brain is still struggling, and Ginny is thankful at least that the pressure of Luna’s leg is gone, even as she can feel herself pulsing with arousal, as if her very heart is pulsing between her legs. But she’s trying to focus, and Luna sounds sad, it sounds like something more than that, and Ginny isn't quite sure what it means but she knows it means something, knows this is important, so she says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You're not.”

“Look at you,” Luna says, voice slow like toffee and making a liar out of Ginny. “All lion, jumping in to defend me.” Her fingers pull away and Ginny bites down the urge to object at that, to grab Luna’s hands and drag it back down, nobody can make Luna do something she doesn't want, and Ginny wouldn't want to even if she could. “With this, with things like this. I take a while, to warm up, to get there.”

“Is this a sex thing?”

Luna laughs and it's like wind charms. “I can take a little while. I do like it, but it takes me a little longer. I don’t always feel the need to.” She shrugs, and her hand is still in Ginny's hair, and she wants to close her eyes and just lean into it, lose herself to the feel of Luna’s hand. Even the simple movement of her hands in Ginny’s hair, light scratches against her skull feel amazing, and Ginny thinks she’d be happy to stay here forever, just to be close to Luna, to have Luna’s hands on here, anywhere she’ll put them.

“I’d like to watch you,” Luna says. And for a moment she can’t work out what Luna means — watch _what?_ But when Luna pushes her thigh up again, making contact again and Ginny groans at that, her body seemingly no less turned on from the talking.

“Yes,” Ginny says, because she can’t think of anything she wants more.

Ginny drops her mouth to Luna’s again, an open mouth kiss that Luna matches easily. Her hands move as if they have a their own mind, slipping under Luna’s top — under _her top, Circe_ — and holding onto Luna’s hips, and back both. She’s thrusting down again, matching Luna’s pressure with her leg. The wetness between her legs is almost embarrassing, and she can feel how her pants are soaked through, she’s probably leaking onto Luna’s leg, but she can’t care about that now. Luna doesn’t seem to care anyway, not if the way she thrusts her leg up says anything about it. Ginny has never felt more aroused in her life, she’s great at getting herself off, the best really, quite the pro at it in her humble opinion but not even that can compare to this.

She has to break the kiss, dropping her mouth to place open mouth kisses at Luna’s collarbone where it’s breaking free of her top.

Luna’s hand in her hair is still moving, and Ginny’s never thought she cared about people playing with her hair, but it feels _amazing_ . It’s never felt like this before, and maybe it’s a new thing, or a girl thing, a sex thing or even just a _Luna_ thing but it’s getting Ginny close to her orgasm faster than she ever could have expected.

Her legs are starting to shake, her whole body is trembling actually, as her stomach pools with pleasure and heat, her breath coming hot and heavy against Luna’s collar bone and she’s so close, so very close, and when Luna’s hand slides forward from her hip, fingers searching out her clit, and even the tentative touch is enough to push her over the edge.

She cries out as her body tenses, and she can feel way her muscles pulse, riding out the orgasm as she slumps forward, trapping Luna’s hand between them against her clit and forcing another loud gasp out of her.

“Fuck,” she gasps out, when her brain is finally cooperating again. Ginny rolls off Luna, grimacing at the wetness between her thighs. She needs a cloth or something. She’s well aware that boys can use a cleaning charm, but she can’t stand them against her skin, especially not so soon after an orgasm. Instead she pulls her pants off, cleaning herself as much as she can, and throws them across the room. She’ll Scourgify them tomorrow and they’ll be as good as clean.

Well, except for how Ginny knows she just came all over them, courtesy of Luna.

Speaking of.

“Do you want—” Ginny starts, letting the question trail off, leaving it open ending. _Do you want me to reciprocate_ , because she would in a heartbeat. _Do you want me to leave_ , because she would, even though she doesn’t want anything less.

“No,” Luna says, with a shake of her head which brushes her locks against Ginny’s hair. “Not tonight. I’d like a cuddle, though.”

That she can do. Ginny slides down the bed, and Luna does the same, finally lying down in the bed for the first time tonight. Ginny pulls Luna into her, wrapping an arm half around her, as they share the same pillow, Luna curled in against her side.

It’s been such a long day, Ginny can hardly believe everything that’s happened, she needs sleep so much, and her body is demanding it, everything feels heavy in the wake of her orgasm. Her brain is still racing though, questions and thoughts racing round.

One in particular.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

“No.”

“Would you get any?”

“Maybe,” Luna’s words tickle against Ginny’s skin. “If I had something I wanted, or needed. I don’t have anything just now. Would you?”

This morning she would have said no, that nothing could convince her to mark up her skin willingly. But today she sat and watched one of her closest friends get tattooed. She listened to Luna talk about _why_ people would, and seeing Luna tattoo Harry, and how Harry had looked at his tattoo with happiness and satisfaction.

“I think I might,” she admits quietly.

“Okay,” Luna says, easily. She always makes everything seem so easy, and Ginny feels able to believe it with her. “When you’re ready, I would do that for you.”

There’s a space in her chest which pulls tight at that, and her eyes suddenly sting a little.

“I love you,” she says, because it’s true, has been true for the longest time.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life  
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/)


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